Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

“Who punished him for laziness,” guessed Ralph.

“Yes, my lord,” said Oslac. “I was not there myself so I have only the word of eyewitnesses but they all vouch the same. The order was given to tie Algar up so that he could be whipped. His diseased old body would have been cut to shreds. He tried to fight back but Guy was far too strong for him. Algar died.”

“Died-or was murdered?”

“The steward assured me that it was an accident.”

“He would,” said Ralph. “I believe I met the fellow at the shire hall and set him down for a liar on sight. How many other accidents have there been at Blackwater Hall?”

“This is not the first, my lord.”

Ralph’s ire was roused. “Guy FitzCorbucion intended to murder this wretch with the end of a whip but did it with his own hands instead. How does it sound to you, Gervase?”

“It could be argued that he killed in self-defence.”

“A fit young man against a fever-ridden slave?” Ralph turned to

Oslac again. “Was there no cure for his ague?”

“None, my lord. He would have died within a week.”

“But Guy helped him on his way,” he smacked his thigh in disgust. “This is brave work indeed! I have no sympathy for a slave who attacks a master. Underlings must know their place. But this is something of a different order. I would not treat a dog the way that Guy treated this poor man.”

“You mentioned a son,” recalled Gervase. “Wistan. A boy of fifteen.”

“Was he present?”

“Yes,” said Oslac with a sigh. “Wistan was forced to witness it all. Such a tragedy was bound to etch itself deeply in his young mind and foster great bitterness. He was vengeful, that cannot be denied. I counselled acceptance of what had happened but he would not hear me. Wistan is a strong-willed boy. He vowed to kill Guy FitzCorbucion.”

“And did he?” asked Gervase. “I honestly cannot say.”

“What does your instinct tell you?” said Ralph.

“No,” decided the priest without hesitation. “Wistan is innocent.” “Guilty of the wish but innocent of the deed.”

“Yes, my lord.” He gave a shrug. “But I could be wrong.”

Ralph leaned back and appraised the man. Oslac had been careful not to take sides. The death of Guy FitzCorbucion was being welcomed as a boon by almost every other Saxon in the town, but the priest had room in his heart both for the slave whom he had buried a week earlier and for the young Norman who had killed him and who now lay on the stone slab in his mortuary. There was nothing sanc-timonious about Oslac the Priest. He was a practical Christian who served all his parishioners with undiscriminating care. Nor were his duties confined to the church itself. He not only conducted regular services in Latin and preached on occasion to his congregation, but he also tended the sick, relieved the poor, heard confession, arbi-trated in disputes between neighbours, and acted as a reassuring wall against common fears of hell and damnation. Oslac was a friend, guide, and-until the Conquest robbed him of his land-a fellow farmer to the whole community. He refused to sit in judgement, even on such an incorrigible sinner as Guy FitzCorbucion.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” said Ralph, getting to his feet. “May

we view the body?”

“I fear not, my lord.”

“It would take no more than a minute.”

“It is not a favour I am in a position to grant,” said Oslac. “You would need the permission of the family before you could be allowed into the mortuary.”

“They would certainly refuse.” “Without question.”

Ralph changed his tack. “This is important to us. It may have serious implications for our work here in Maldon. We would appreciate your help.” He gave a confiding smile. “The family would not have to know about it.”

“I would know, my lord,” said Oslac firmly. “That is why I may not permit it. I guard that body as a sacred trust.”

“We have no right whatsoever to trespass on that,” conceded Gervase in a conciliatory tone. “But you have seen the body, Father Oslac, and that may be enough.”

“In what way?”

“To begin with, you can tell us the cause of death.” “A knife wound through the heart.”

“In his chest or in his back?”

“Both. There were fifteen stab wounds in all.”

“A most thorough assassin,” noted Ralph. “How long had Guy been dead when his body was found?”

“It is impossible to say with any accuracy.”

“If you had to make a guess …”

“Two, maybe three days,” said Oslac. “My work here has made me closely acquainted with death and it has distinctive marks. When a body lies in water for any length of time, a number of things happen to it. First of all-”

“Omit the details,” interrupted Ralph with a squeamish expression,

not wishing to hear about the destructive properties of water. “A time is all we need. Two or three days?”

“That is what I would estimate.” “Who found the body?” said Gervase. “Brunloc. A fisherman.”

“Could we speak to him?” “If you wish.”

“Where could we find him?”

“Out in his boat, most of the time.”

“This is work for you, Gervase,” said Ralph quickly. “I will not venture near the sea except by compulsion. I have no love for surging waves.”

“The sea is over ten miles away, my lord,” said Oslac. “Your gulls tell me otherwise.”

“Meet Brunloc at the Hythe,” suggested the priest. “I can arrange that for you.”

“We accept that offer with gratitude,” said Gervase. “A moment ago, you told us you did not think that Wistan was the killer of Guy FitzCorbucion.”

“I also told you that I could be wrong.” “Is the boy capable of murder?”

“Indeed, he is. Wistan felt he had just cause. And he did run away once the corpse was discovered. That brought suspicion down on his head.” Oslac gave it some more thought then reaffirmed his instinct. “But I still feel that this is not his doing.”

“Why?”

“Because Wistan would strike in anger. A wild assault. And there is clear calculation in this attack.”

“Calculation?” said Ralph. “The body was mutilated.” “Fifteen stab wounds, you said.’”

“There was something else, my lord.”

“Well?” Ralph saw the man’s reluctance and tried to overcome it with a softer tone. “Something else?”

The priest threw a glance towards the mortuary. “I would not have this voiced abroad,” he insisted.

“You have our word on that,” promised Gervase.

“The truth has even been kept from Guy’s own sister.” “We will not breathe it to a soul,” vowed Ralph.

“That is vital.” Oslac studied the two men closely until he was sure that he could trust them. They were royal commissioners who had been selected by the Conqueror himself for a complex mission and that said much about their character and their quality. There was also a sense of candour about them, which appealed to the priest. In a town where deceit and prevarication were found at every turn, it was refreshing to meet two people with such a clear-eyed commitment to truth. Oslac knew he could put his faith in them and he lowered his voice before continuing. “When the body was found,” he explained, “it had been stripped of much of its clothing.”

“What form did the mutilation take?” said Gervase. “He was castrated.”

There was a long and uneasy pause as the visitors absorbed this new intelligence and tried to wonder at its meaning. They plied Oslac with further questions but there was nothing more that he was able or prepared to add. When they pressed him for the names of other possible suspects, he refused to point a finger at anyone. His task was to bring some comfort to the bereaved family and not to indulge in speculation about the identity of the killer. They respected his position and thanked him for the help that he had been able to give. Oslac showed them out and walked through the little cemetery with them. The priory bell began to toll in the distance and it unlocked a memory.